


Let It Snow

by TravelersChick



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Movies, F/M, Fireplaces, First Kiss, Fluff, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Snow, Snowed In, Sort of Songfic Not Really, hygge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelersChick/pseuds/TravelersChick
Summary: Ronon and the team, along with Dr. Emma Rogers, have to spend Christmas Eve off-world. When the weather takes a turn for the worse, Ronon and Emma find a way to pass the time indoors.
Relationships: Ronon Dex/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Let It Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of at least two Christmassy one shots featuring Ronon and my OC, Emma Rogers, as promised for this holiday season. It has been posted on FFN for about a year now, but I wanted to move it over here, too. 
> 
> The fic is inspired by the song "Let It Snow" ... which I do not own and was written in 1945 (during a California heatwave in July, apparently?) by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne and is somehow not public domain yet. Go figure.
> 
> What's the timeline for this fic? Which reality does it take place in? I have no clue, nor do I care. Is it canon compliant? Probs not. I just had an inspiration I couldn't shake.
> 
> I hope you all like it! I've loved writing this. Let me know what you think. :)

"So…?"

"So what?"

"So, what did you think?" Emma pressed a button on her laptop computer, which caused it to eject the movie they had just finished.

Ronon shrugged. "It was good."

"It was good?" she echoed, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah."

"That's it?" She waved her hand at the computer. "Did you at least like it?"

If he were being perfectly honest, he had yet to understand the Earth obsession with movies. Sure, some of them were entertaining, and the one they had watched was fine; but on the whole, there were other things he'd rather do than sit and stare at a box for hours at a time. Lucky for him, one such activity happened to be spending time with the woman sitting next to him, and he knew if he wanted that to continue, he was going to have to choose his next words carefully.

"It was definitely better than standing guard in the cold, freezing my ass off while you and McKay tried to figure out that Ancient interface in the town square."

"Wow." Emma smiled in a way that somehow made her appear both amused and offended; he was convinced she reserved the expression only for him, which made him want to tease her even more. "Not a very high bar."

"It was good," he repeated.

"Hm," she said, spinning the disc around her finger, that wicked glint still in her eyes. "Well, I sure do appreciate you braving the elements to keep me safe."

Damn linguist. She always knew the perfect thing to say to take him down a peg while still ensuring that his ego was sufficiently stroked.

"I'm just glad you and McKay decided to call it quits early today."

"Yeah, well, that was more McKay's doing than my own. I figured a Canadian would tolerate the cold better, but what do I know?" She snapped the disc back into its plastic casing. "How did you end up with this sweet set up, anyway? I'd think McKay would have said or done anything to get a room to himself."

Ronon glanced about the bedroom and agreed that out of all the off-world places they had ever stayed, this cottage had to rank near the top. Not only was the house charming, the people of the village had been beyond kind and inviting, as well, offering up their empty rooms for the week while Emma and McKay carried out their research. And though this particular room was definitely cozy, it was plenty big enough for Ronon's needs. There was enough space for the wrought iron bed on which they both sat, an armoire, and even a small fold-out desk tucked into the corner with a plain wooden chair to match. Three of the walls were made of long wood beams and thick plaster, which prevented even the faintest of drafts from whistling between the seams; the fourth was solid stone, a fireplace carved into the center.

"The room down the hall has two smaller beds, so Sheppard and McKay took those," he explained.

"How'd that happen?" She shifted so she was facing him and tucked her leg under her. "I can't help but think you and John would make better roommates..."

"Perks of being tall," he smirked as he stretched his arms above his head and his heels to the footboard. He had tried one of the beds in the other room and found that his legs hung several inches over the edge; at least this particular bed could accommodate his large stature, if barely.

"One of many, I'm sure." She gave him a long look before releasing a sigh. "I should go." She got up and made her way to the desk near the window, where earlier she had deposited her parka and boots.

"Wouldn't want Teyla to worry," he agreed, also standing and heading toward the fireplace.

Gazing out the frosty window, she sat on the wooden chair and laced up her boot. "Wow," she commented, "it's really coming down."

The kindling he had added to the fire caught light, crackling merrily as he joined her near the window, leaning over where she sat and placing his hand on the icy glass pane. The cold shocked through his fingers and palm, a stark contrast to the blaze he had been tending not a moment ago.

Emma's attention had slipped from her boot to the wintry scene outside. "I don't want to go out there," she said, both whining and laughing at herself. "I'm a Texan. We're not built for the cold."

"So don't," he said.

She pressed the side of her forehead to the window and the breath from her lips left a delicate blossom of fog on the glass. "It's already getting dark."

"Don't worry about that. I'll walk you back." He braced himself against the top sill and peered into the heavens, trying to gauge the severity of the storm.

There were no individual shapes of clouds that he could make out, just a uniform, low-hanging brume of grayish-white that dominated the sky. Down on the street, two little girls in long, red coats scurried home, shielding their faces with their arms against the snow. The cobbler's old wooden sign, two houses down, creaked loudly as it swung wildly to and fro.

"The wind's picking up," he said. "Give it a couple hours, and maybe the storm will blow over."

"And if it gets worse?"

Somehow her voice seemed closer than he would have expected, until he realized by leaning over her, he had trapped her where she sat. He immediately straightened and took a step backward, hoping he hadn't made her uncomfortable.

"I'll still walk you back." He cleared his throat, surprised by how hoarse his voice was. "Little snow never killed anyone."

"I'm telling you, if you think McKay's complaining is bad, just wait until you get a Texan caught in a blizzard."

"Think I'll risk it," he said with a small smirk. "Nothing can be worse than McKay."

She laughed at that and pulled off the one boot she had already put on. "Fine. I've got more movies to help with your Christmas education, anyway."

Apparently on Earth, tonight was Christmas Eve, which was (as far as he understood) a night in which families gathered together at home or their place of worship to light candles and sing songs called carols about a baby born in a barn. There was also something about a fat, old man who rode around in a sled pulled by flying elk that he still wasn't entirely clear about…

When Emma had learned that they would be spending both Christmas and Christmas Eve on this particular planet, she had decided to bring all the Christmas movies she could get her hands on, even going so far as to ask Zelenka for one of the extended-life naquadah batteries to power her computer for the week. And then, when Ronon made the mistake of saying he didn't get what the big deal was about her (evidently) favorite holiday, she took it upon herself to educate him.

"I've got a surprise, too," she confessed. "Wanna see?"

He crossed his arms and looked down at her. "Sure."

Rummaging through her supplies pack, she pulled out a metal can and handed it to him.

He squinted and read the label aloud. "Popcorn?"

"Being Teyla's roomie has its own set of perks," she smiled, standing up, taking the can from him and heading toward the fire. She emptied a scoopful of kernels into a lidded pot, suspended it over the flames and covered it. "And now we wait."

She returned to the bed and held up two more movies. "Which one?"

"Uh…that one." He pointed to the one with the black and white cover. Out of all the Earth movies he had seen, he had found the ones filmed in black and white a bit more relatable.

"Wonderful choice," she said, placing the disc into her computer. "Besides, the other one has gratuitous amounts of nudity so that could have made for an awkward night." She shot him a devious look.

"Whoa there. Wait a minute. I changed my mind. The other one." He dived for the other movie case, but she snatched it out of his reach and hid it behind her back.

"Nope. Too late. You already made your choice."

"Come on," he argued good naturedly.

She smiled at him and shook her head. "You made your choice!"

The first kernel in the pot popped, followed by several more, which brought an end to their light-hearted quarrel. Transferring the popped corn into a vessel that wasn't too hot to hold proved more difficult than either one of them had foreseen, but eventually they got everything settled, made their way back to the bed, and began the movie.

"This popcorn is terrible," he whispered to her as he grabbed another handful.

"Well what do you expect? We didn't have any butter or oil to cook it with."

He stopped mid-chew and stared at her. "There's butter in the kitchen downstairs."

"Too little, too late, Dex." The mischief had returned to her eyes. "Now shh. I'm trying to watch the movie."

* * *

As the movie wore on and the sun continued to set, the room grew steadily darker. Rivulets of melted wax trickled down the side of the tapers Ronon had lit when Emma arrived, their trails of black smoke floating to the rafters like ghosts of time elapsed. When Emma reached for the knitted blanket their hosts had kindly left at the foot of the bed, he knew it was time to restoke the fire; he wasn't going to let her catch a chill, not if there was something he could do about it. Without a word, he got up from the bed and made his way to the hearth, added a couple logs onto the dying flames and knelt low to blow new life into the glowing embers. He heard her pause the movie while she waited, and felt her eyes on him while he worked. A minute later, when he returned to the side of the bed, Emma lifted the blanket, tacitly inviting him to join her underneath it. He stood still for a moment, a bit surprised by her offer.

Was there something going on between them? Absolutely. There had been for quite some time. Was it significant? He wasn't sure.

Overwhelming physical attraction aside, he liked spending time with her and the reverse seemed to also be true. What had started as "accidental" meetings in the linguistics lab or the sparring room eventually turned into the occasional dinner or run together. They had kissed once, or rather she had kissed him, but only once… It had been in a moment of desperation, during his withdrawal from the Wraith enzyme, when no one was one hundred percent certain he would survive it. His team had been the ones to take shifts watching over him as he came down, but they must have granted her some time with him, as well. Between the unbearable muscle pain, the uncontrollable whole-body chills, and the insatiable hunger that would not abate, her kiss was one of the only things he remembered from those forty-eight hours. She hadn't said much to him, at least, not much he could remember, other than the word "please" and his name, uttered over and over again through her tears as she clutched to his leather-bound hand. When her time had run up, she bent over him, placed a hand as cold as the windowpanes on the side of his face, and touched her lips to the corner of his mouth. It wasn't a real kiss – given the circumstances, such a thing would have been inappropriate – but it wasn't a friendly peck on the cheek either. He remembered the spot because, as he fell deeper and deeper into withdrawal, it was the only part of his body that he didn't want to claw at and tear apart in an effort to make the pain go away. But that had been months ago…

He accepted her offer and joined her under the blanket, which radiated a body heat that somehow felt warmer than that of the actual flames he had just tended. She reached across him to restart the movie, and he caught a trace of the scent of her hair as she settled back into a position where she was leaning on his shoulder. If Sheppard were here, and thank the Ancestors he wasn't, he would have accused Ronon of being slick for what he did next. It wasn't his intent to be forward as he wrapped his arm around Emma's waist and secured her against him; it simply felt like the natural thing to do. Besides, it was certainly warmer like this.

By the time the movie ended, the candles had completely burned out and the only source of light was the fire in the hearth. The computer screen went dark and there was a moment of silence in which neither of them knew what to do or say. Still sitting close, perhaps even closer than before, it was beyond tempting to stay like this, huddled together and sharing in the same warmth. But with no distraction like the movie, there wasn't much of a reason to do so.

It was Emma who moved first. She sat forward on the bed and looked out the window. "Jesus," she whispered, "there's got to be at least a foot of snow on the ground."

Ronon got out of the bed and, despite the ambient heat from the fire, the cold of the stone floor on his feet was jarring. He peered through the window and his own observations confirmed hers: the snow would be shin-deep for anyone who tried to walk through it.

"So much for waiting out the storm," she muttered. Reluctantly, she got out of the bed and began to pack everything away – she closed the computer, put all of the movies back into her bag, and folded the blanket. As she did so, Ronon slipped on his boots, shrugged into his long coat and eventually helped her into hers.

"I guess it is kind of perfect," Emma quietly said.

"What is?" he asked, opening the armoire.

Their hosts had provided him with a hat and a scarf in anticipation of the inclement weather. Emma wouldn't need the hat – her coat had a hood – and it was too small for him, but he figured she would need the scarf, so he took both of her arms in his hands, steadied her in front of him, and draped the scarf around her neck.

She looked up into his eyes, the golden firelight dancing in her green irises. "Snow on Christmas Eve," she whispered.

Reaching behind her neck, he released the trapped lengths of her hair from under the scarf. He didn't want her to go and he knew the sentiment wasn't at all motivated by the frigid trek that awaited them. It could have been a beautiful, sunny summer day and he still wouldn't want her to leave. Placing his hand on the side of her neck, he stroked her jaw with his thumb.

She closed her eyes at his touch, leaned close and before he knew it, her lips were on his. They were warm and smooth and tasted a bit of burnt corn and ale. Their kiss wasn't overly passionate, but it wasn't chaste either. It was tender and slow, like the burning coals of the dwindling fire. When at last it ended, she rested her nose just a moment against his before pulling away with a quiet sigh.

Ronon cleared his throat and tried to swallow his heartbeat. "What, um…what was that for?"

"For walking me back in the middle of a blizzard."

He quirked a smile. "I haven't done that yet."

"No, but I figured I would be too cold and cranky to do it after, so…" she trailed off, figuring the rest of her sentence didn't need to be finished.

He agreed. Though the fresh snow was beautiful and pristine outside, there was something alluring about holding her here, the two of them alone in this room, kept warm by each other and the lone fire.

He really didn't want her to go.

Seizing her by the waist, he pulled her to his chest and brought his lips to hers again. She released a little squeal of surprise into his mouth at the force he had exhibited, but soon she relaxed against him, linking her arms tightly around his neck.

The wind picked up outside, battering the shutters a few times before dying down again, while the embers in the hearth popped and snapped as the fire fought to stay alight. The fabric of her parka rustled as she pressed her body against his, which he took as permission to deepen their kiss. She welcomed the change, softening her lips to invite him in.

Wholeheartedly consumed, Ronon forgot all sense of time and circumstance. He knew it was late, he knew she needed to leave, but he couldn't remember, nor did he care why. As they began to lose themselves in one other, the jolting sound of a walkie talkie pierced through the still, intimate atmosphere.

"Dr. Rogers?" the voice said over the radio. "Dr. Rogers, please respond. This is Teyla."

Emma reached into the side pocket of her pack and picked up the radio. "This is Emma, go ahead."

"Doctor, the weather has become rather severe. What is your location?"

"Oh, I'm…safe. I'm still with the boys."

"Good to hear. Will you be returning shortly? I fear the storm will only get worse."

She nodded. "I was just about to –" She glanced up at Ronon and something in his expression must have betrayed his inner desires. "I was just about to call you and let you know that I think I'll hunker down here for the night. It's probably the safest option. Will you be all right alone?"

"Of course," Teyla replied. "Stay warm." Even through the storm-induced static over the radio, Ronon could hear her knowing smile.

Emma's eyes locked onto his own. "I will."

She and Teyla exchanged in a quick good night and as she was putting the radio away, gave Ronon another tentative glance. "I hope that's okay, I assumed –"

He silenced her with another kiss, this one less controlled, less guarded than their previous two. Into it, he spilled every ounce of his relief that she wasn't leaving, joy that she had chosen to stay with him, and raw, male need to have her close to him. Frantically, they shook themselves out of their coats, no longer needed, and cast them aside into a rumpled heap. Emma swung the scarf from behind her neck and around his, drawing him toward her before they both collapsed onto the bed.

Minutes later, they found themselves bootless once more, nestled against each other under the bedcovers to ward off the chill of the room. She practically melted in his arms, her body soft, pliable, and willing, eager for each new touch he dared to place on her skin. Breathing became more of a nuisance than a necessity, infinitely less essential than the connection they were forging hand to heart, forehead to cheek, mouth to mouth. They held tight to each other in an embrace that reminded him of harvest nights and home, of cold evenings spent with those he once loved under nothing more than a thick blanket and the stars.

The wind outside had gone from intermittent bursts to a constant howl, but he didn't care. For all he was concerned, as long as this little room stayed sheltered, it didn't matter how bad it got outside.

"Do you think it will snow like this all night?" she whispered to him as a particularly violent gust rattled the panes of the window in their leaded cames.

He slipped his hand up the back of her shirt, drew her closer, and burrowed his face into her neck.

"Let it."


End file.
